


tell me what you see

by Kit_Kat21



Series: Beatles Tribute [4]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Single Parent Sansa, Temper Tantrums, Toddlers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 17:26:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14266020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_Kat21/pseuds/Kit_Kat21
Summary: Sansa tries to not hate Jon. She has come to realize that hating him is pointless and a waste of time and hating him changes absolutely nothing in her life.But for how good he is with her son, Sansa can almost hate him for that.





	tell me what you see

**Author's Note:**

> Before the events of _baby, it's you_.

…

 

The first time Brandon threw a terrible-twos tantrum, Catelyn told Sansa to simply ignore him and Sansa had always strived to be a mother just like her own mom, but she was admittedly horrified at that piece of advice.

 

She couldn’t just _ignore_ her son.

 

Sansa was aware of how lucky she was. She had read parenting books and when Brandon turned two, she began bracing herself for the worst of temper tantrums at the drop of a hat. The books had explained it this way. Toddlers’ irrational behaviors were a reflection of their inner turmoil and frustration. Their world was turning upside down as they grew older and learned more things and they didn’t yet have the skills to handle all of the changes.

 

Tantrums didn’t mean that Brandon was a spoiled brat. Tantrums meant that he was normal.

 

Still, Sansa was quite relieved when Brandon didn’t seem to be having _too_ many tantrums and she listened to her mom’s advice, but she had a hard time following it.

 

At first.

 

Now, when Brandon begins screaming and crying because his sock is somehow on his foot wrong or his lips taste a little salty, Sansa heeds Catelyn’s very _smart_ advice and she simply lets Brandon scream his head off until he tires himself out. When a two-year-old is acting as if the world is falling down around him, it’s really the only thing that can be done. That or film it on her phone and send it to her family for later amusement.

 

Today, Brandon has thrown himself down on the floor of the kitchen, crying and screaming, because Sansa is an absolutely _horrible_ mother for not letting him eat frozen chicken nuggets and insisting on putting them in the oven to cook first.

 

Sansa simply continues moving around the kitchen, sometimes stepping right over Brandon, to continue her work.

 

The house is empty that afternoon. Her dad had a meeting, her mom has taken Arya shopping because Catelyn has another fundraising event coming up and Arya needs something suitable to wear, Rickon is out, running, and Sansa is not working that day. In the summer, Winterfell University’s library has shortened hours – still open for those taking summer courses, but not open for the long hours it is during the usual school year. Nan, her boss, gives her either Monday or Friday off so she has three day weekends during the summer – which Sansa usually absolutely loves because she can spend all of that extra time with Brandon.

 

Except when Brandon is having a tantrum and is currently lying on the floor, screaming as if someone is in the midst of murdering him.

 

Sansa’s head is beginning to ache, but she continues moving around the kitchen while glancing at the oven timer every few seconds and letting Brandon cry his eyes out.

 

In the summer months, she finds herself to be a bit more ambitious; when she has a bit more time to try and experiment with new things. Today, she is trying her hand at making her very own homemade pasta and tomato sauce. It had all seemed so easy – according to Pinterest – but it’s a bit harder than she stupidly – naively – thought. Still, she keeps at it, wanting to surprise her family at dinner.

 

“Brandon, just a few more minutes, sweetling,” Sansa says as she guides the dough through the pasta attachment on her mom’s Kitchen Aid mixer, flattening it and cutting it into even strips.

 

Brandon, somehow, manages to wail just even louder and Sansa does her best to not sigh heavily. She envies Lady at the moment. At the first sign of Brandon having a meltdown, the dog went into the backyard and hasn’t asked to come back inside.

 

_DING! DONG!_

Sansa jumps slightly as the doorbell echoes throughout the house just because it’s so unexpected.

 

There’s always that fleeting second when the doorbell rings when she thinks that it’s Ramsay and that he’s found her and Brandon and her heart begins to pound a little faster.

 

She carefully sets the strands of pasta down and then wipes her hands on the nearby towel. Brandon rolls over onto his stomach and then pushes himself up to his feet, wiping at his nose with his shirt sleeve and following after Sansa as she leaves the kitchen, still whimpering.

 

As Warden of the North, the Starks’ family home is surrounded by a fence with a code-locked front gate so not just anyone can ring their doorbell. Still, Sansa takes a peek through the peephole to see who it is and when she sees, she closes her eyes and pauses a moment before opening the door.

 

She always has to prepare herself before being around him and she _hates_ that she has to prepare herself. Why should she? Why should her heart speed up and her stomach knot and why should she just automatically want to cry whenever he’s near? She doesn’t understand why she has such reactions to him, still, after all of this time, when it’s clear to her that she’s just another person to him.

 

She sometimes wonders – when she feels like torturing herself – if he remembers _anything_ from their time together because most days, Sansa remembers absolutely everything.

 

With another deep breath and before he can ring the doorbell again, Sansa unlocks the door and opens it.

 

Jon stands there and looks momentary, visibly surprised that she’s the one answering the door.

 

“Sansa,” he then says her name as if he says it on an exhale and Sansa curses the shiver down her spine. “I… I was supposed to meet… hello, Brandon,” he then smiles down to the little toddler, currently standing at Sansa’s side, his face buried in the side of Sansa’s thigh.

 

Normally, he loves seeing Jon and always exclaims his name when he sees him, but not today. Not today when he wants his chicken nuggets.

 

Sansa puts a hand on Brandon’s head and gives Jon a small smile though she’s not sure why. “A mood,” she explains quietly.

 

“Ah,” Jon nods knowingly. He – as the rest of the Starks – have all been witness to one of Brandon’s tantrums. He straightens and looks to Sansa again.

 

She can imagine that she looks a disaster. Her hair is thrown up into a sloppy ponytail, she _knows_ she has flour somewhere on her face, and she’s wearing yoga Capri leggings with a Winterfell University tee-shirt. But then she reminds herself that she doesn’t give one foot what she looks like while around Jon; not even when he’s wearing jeans and work boots and his Snow Construction tee-shirt that shows off his chest and his arms with his hair pulled back in his man bun.

 

Jon Snow is still the most handsome man she’s ever seen.

 

And she can almost bring herself to hate him for that.

 

“I had some papers I wanted your dad to look over with me and he said he’d be home around this time,” Jon explains and for the first time, she notices the folder in his hand, hanging at his side.

 

“He had a meeting this morning. It must have gone over.” Sansa bends down and hoists Brandon up into her arms, the boy burying his wet, hot face into the side of her neck. “I’ll give him a call to let him know you’re here,” she says and then with that, she turns and heads back towards the kitchen, leaving Jon on the front porch. It will be up to him if he wants to come inside or just wait outside until Ned returns.

 

In the kitchen, Sansa bends down, returning Brandon to his feet. The boy looks to the oven, sees that there’s still one minute left, and he promptly throws himself on the floor, bursting into a wail again.

 

Sansa goes to grab the oven mitts and steps over Brandon so she can reach the over door as soon as the timer beeps. She’s not even going to mention to him that they need to wait so the nuggets can cool down.

 

She turns and puts the tray down on the potholder she has on the kitchen island in the middle of the room and she sees Jon coming to linger in the doorway, as if he’s unsure whether he should enter or not. Sansa doesn’t say anything to him as she takes the oven mitts off again.

 

“Brandon, lunch is ready,” Sansa says, waving one of the mitts over the nuggets to get them to cool faster.

 

From the corner of her eye, she can see Jon moving, taking Brandon’s plastic plate from drying rack next to the sink and then going to the refrigerator for the bottle of mustard. Sansa ignores the pang in her chest she feels from Jon knowing that Brandon prefers his chicken nuggets with mustard instead of ketchup.

 

“Wow, Little Stark. Dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets?” Jon says, placing the plate and mustard next to the tray and Sansa’s arm, before crouching down next to Brandon. “I’m jealous of you for getting to eat that.”

 

Brandon opens his eyes to frown up at Jon. “Mama can make you, too,” he tells him.

 

Jon smiles a little and shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to eat your nuggets. You need those more than me.”

 

“Brandon, come to the table,” Sansa says, dropping the nuggets down onto the plate and squirting a dollop of mustard – making sure that it doesn’t touch any of the nuggets yet.

 

That had been the cause for a tantrum just two days before. She is very conscious of what her son eats and makes sure he has plenty of fresh fruit and veggies, dairy and grains. But she also knows that he’s just a two and two-year-olds want dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets, too, and the mustard touching the nuggets before Brandon is ready for them to touch is a massive no-no in his mind.

 

“Come on, Brandon,” Jon says and hefts the boy up in his arms, carrying him after Sansa to the table.

 

But when Sansa puts the plate down on the tray of his highchair and Jon begins to lower him into it, Brandon begins to kick out his legs.

 

“NO!!” He shouts and begins wiggling. “No, mama, no!”

 

“Where do you want to eat, Brandon?” She asks. “Now you don’t want to eat? I’ll split these between Jon and Lady if you don’t want them.”

 

“No, mama! Floor!” He shouts.

 

Sansa can’t stop herself from sighing heavily. “Fine.”

 

It’s not worth a battle.

 

She takes the plate and sets it on the floor and Jon crouches down, putting Brandon on the floor as well.

 

Brandon plops down in front of his plate and then points not Jon. “Jon! Sit!” The toddler orders.

 

Sansa sees the way Jon’s lips twitch, nearly smiling, before he nods and sits without an argument. He also takes one of the nuggets Brandon holds out for him.

 

Sansa finds herself unable to move for a moment, watching Jon and Brandon sitting on the floor – Brandon dunking his nugget into the mustard before Jon does the same and Brandon giggles as Jon takes a bite. She watches as the pang in her chest grows larger and begins to throb more intensely. She feels the familiar sting in her eyes as tears begin to build as she watches the scene; a scene she has wasted time, dreaming about, but a scene that will never come true.

 

Jon lifts his head then, feeling Sansa still standing there, and Sansa quickly turns away before he can see the tears in her eyes. She has no idea how he would react to seeing them and she doesn’t want to find out. She has cried so many times because of Jon and because of things that have absolutely nothing to do with him and she always tries to do it when there’s no one else around to see. Jon Snow seeing her cry now is the absolute last thing she wants.

 

“I’ll call my dad and see if he’s on the way,” she says, still keeping herself turned away from him, and she goes to her cell phone she’s left on the counter near the remaining unfinished pasta dough.

 

She faces the counter, staring down, listening as Brandon chatters – now happy as ever – to Jon about his favorite dinosaurs though he doesn’t know any of their names and Brandon’s speech is very much still broken up, mixed in with made-up toddler speak, but Jon is listening intently and making comments and asking questions as if he understands Brandon perfectly and she swears that sometimes, she can feel Jon’s eyes moving towards her, watching her back.

 

Sansa tries to not hate Jon. She has come to realize that hating him is pointless and a waste of time and hating him changes absolutely nothing in her life.

 

But for how good he is with her son, Sansa can almost hate him for that.

 

She exhales a shaky breath and wipes at her cheeks. She finally feels collected enough to pick up her phone and call her dad. The sooner Ned comes home, the sooner Jon won’t have to be in the kitchen anymore and she can go back to pretending that he’s not there at all.

 

…

**Author's Note:**

> I listen to The Beatles constantly and sometimes, a certain song will play and it will just make me think of this universe and I get in a mood to write some angst. Thank you for reading!


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